


The Taste That Your Lips Allow

by damnremus (malivolus)



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Innocence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malivolus/pseuds/damnremus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kurt?” The boy in question huffed out a stifled laugh. “What, Blaine?” “Kiss me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste That Your Lips Allow

**Author's Note:**

> This here is the product of an entire week's worth of procrastination. Despite the obscene amount of time it took me to finish, I think I really like it. Here's to hoping you do too! The title of this work is taken from Ed Sheeran's song "Give Me Love."

“Kurt?”

Steam rose from Blaine’s mug in a steady, heady mist that cloaked him, coated him in a cloud of contentment as a different, squirming steam of nerves swirled in the pits of his stomach. His fingers fumbled with the edges of design on his mug and his lower lip had long since migrated between his newly brace-less teeth as his eyes traced Kurt’s figure against the cream of the Anderson kitchen wall.

Hair swept up in his new style, Kurt looked so much … older than he had just two weeks ago. Had it really only been a fortnight since he and Blaine had posed against the Hummel Tires & Lube sign for a photo on their first day of senior year? Had a decade really passed since the first of those photos had been taken—two eight year old boys, cheeks flushed and pressed upwards by deep, wide smiles as they posed together in their Dalton Academy uniforms? Had the years since Blaine moved his belongings into a house across the way from a calloused old tire shop really slipped by so surreptitiously?

Taking Kurt in—his trim waist, angled, hollowed cheeks, the hint of stubble he had missed that morning finding the midday light—Blaine couldn’t deny that it had. Kurt had grown—tall, like the maple tree they liked to climb in Blaine’s yard—and, Blaine supposed, so had he. Baby fat had fled their cheeks with frightening speed as years fell away, limbs had lengthened, some more than others, eyes had aged.

In many ways, Blaine considered himself a man. He’d turned eighteen. He could vote and rent and buy his own car, if he so pleased. He could work anywhere—bars, even—and was legal in almost every sense of the word. He’d landed the coveted role of soloist for the Warblers, earned top grades, secured a reasonably respectable position as sales associate at Brooks Brothers. He was making his way, certainly. Tomorrow, Blaine would be entrusted with a single train ticket, a kiss on the cheek, and an appointment with the admissions department of NYU—all on his own in New York.

In many ways, Blaine found more boy in himself than anything else. His eyes still lacked the soft curve of crow’s feet, his cheeks still full and flushed. While his growth had halted, it was a far few inches shorter than most his age and his voice had never dropped all that dramatically. Then again, neither had Kurt’s. Perhaps what made Blaine most feel like a boy had nothing to do with his stature, his physicality. Perhaps it had more to do with his abrupt lack of all experience—romantic experience, that was.  
The boy, with wide eyes and flooded cheeks, couldn’t help but find his situation utterly embarrassing. Here he was, headed to his first college visit—in New York, no less—surrounded by the educated and the cultured, without even having his very first kiss.

Kurt turned to Blaine, his own coffee held lightly in his hands so as not to burn himself on the hot porcelain. His eyes outlined the rim of the mug as he stirred in his sugar and Blaine wished, for just one moment, that he would look up at him.

“Yeah?”

Shifting on the barstool and allowing his lip to drop from his teeth, Blaine’s eyes drooped to the table. “I’m going to NYU tomorrow.”

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt chuckled, his sea foam eyes rolling as he placed his mug on the counter and slipped beside Blaine. “I _know_. You wouldn’t talk about anything else for the past week and you made me pick out your clothes three days in advance.”

“I wanted to look metropolitan!” Blaine exclaimed into his coffee, cheeks flooding a rosy pink.

“And you will, so long as you follow my exact instructions to the letter,” Kurt replied, long limbs crossing in the most distracting manner. Not that Blaine found Kurt distracting at all. That was entirely beyond the point.

There was a moment of silence, one that clung to the air between the boys—thick, heavy. Blaine felt the quiet like a blanket across his shoulders, wool invading his ears, finding its way inside his mouth, causing his breath to come quick and harsh. The boy absently hoped Kurt couldn’t hear it wheeze past his lips in the dead stillness of the air.

“Kurt?”

The boy in question huffed out a stifled laugh. “What, Blaine?”

“Kiss me.”

There was a moment after the words left Blaine’s lips that he felt the smallest amount of relief. That relief was soon displaced with wide eyes to match his best friend’s and a desperation to elaborate before Kurt bolted from the kitchen in the manner he was so prone to when cornered.

“As friends! As completely platonic friends, you know? Because I’m going to New York and I’m going to be negotiating my entire future and I’ve never even been kissed before. And how ridiculous is that? I mean, I’m still a boy and they’re asking me to be so adult about it and I can’t even imagine being around those people without something as simple and as transforming as my first kiss,” Blaine halted, aware he was rambling into space without proper destination. His head dropped willing into the crook of his arm. “Say something, Kurt,” he mumbled into his skin.

“I don’t know what you want me to—” Kurt’s voice fell off quickly, musical notes over a sharp decline. There was a beat that followed in which Blaine thought Kurt would get up and leave. Instead, his eyes flickered to the kitchen window, hovered as they stared into the lush green of September.

Kurt’s eyes found Blaine’s, blinking before falling once more to his coffee.

“Okay.”

The air left Blaine’s lungs in an altogether relieved rush of nerves, the coils in his stomach easing just the smallest amount.

“Okay.”

Blaine’s fingers, white as they clutched the countertop, tightened further as Kurt’s hesitant hand found first his shoulder, then his neck, then the sharp curve of his jaw. Eyes owlish and open as they stared deep into Blaine, Kurt only shifted minutely on his stool, feet catching the leg and holding him still. There was a rush of air across the bridge of Blaine’s nose, an exhale trapped on sensitive skin. His own breath coming in odd, huffing gasps, Blaine leaned forward as best he could, chest still resolutely facing the counter.

“As friends,” Kurt stated, eyes still spread wide and boring into Blaine’s.

“Friends,” Blaine agreed.

Kissing was different from how Blaine had imagined it. In movies, books, kisses were sweet and demure—unless you watched the kind of stuff his brother, Copper, liked, but Blaine definitely _did not_ —shared in passing as a new beginning or old tradition. This kiss with Kurt, it felt something like that. It felt warm and open and somehow sickly sweet, like Kurt was melting his sugar lips and spreading the excess across his pinked skin. Kurt felt like a wave, rolling into him, pressing harder before backing away, making Blaine chase him, his lips. Kurt felt like safety and strength and _boy_. Kurt felt right, somehow, like Blaine was supposed to be right there, right then, pressing his now slightly swollen lips to Kurt’s as if the universe’s axis was set on it. Blaine guessed this was how his kiss differed from others.  
Kissing Kurt decidedly did not feel like kissing his best friend.

Kurt’s lips left Blaine’s all too quickly and Blaine tried his best to follow them, eyelids still low and hooded, chin arched up in an attempt to catch and keep. When the soft give of Kurt had undeniably left him, Blaine hovered, opening his caramel eyes. Their faces still flickered just a few inches from each other, hands still held at attention on the other’s bodies.

Kurt looked taken aback as he gazed down at Blaine, sea foam eyes as owlish as before. Blaine licked his lips and Kurt followed his tongue, pupils drawn wide and curiously black.

“Kurt?” Blaine murmured into the air between them, uncertain as the nerves which had peculiarly settled stirred themselves back into rotation.

“Blaine?” Kurt answered. Blaine could have counted the faint, sparse freckles on the apples of his cheeks.

“That didn’t feel like just friends.”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Kurt Hummel, or Blaine Anderson. Forgive my shipping ways.


End file.
